


I won’t lose you tonight.

by Just_trying_to_be_HAPPY



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Depression, Hospitals, I beg of you, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, THERE IS DEPICTION OF SELF HARM AND SUICIDE ATTEMPT, THERE IS SO MUCH OUT THERE FOR YOU., This is legit just me projecting my past, but adding names I know, if you are struggling, seek help, there is recovery at the end, this is a vent fic, this isn’t me hoping this will happen, this isn’t me wishing this upon anyone else, this isn’t real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27358915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_trying_to_be_HAPPY/pseuds/Just_trying_to_be_HAPPY
Summary: TW FOR SUICIDE ATTEMPT AND SELFHARMTechno has been struggling. There’s a fine line he walks day in and day out. One wrong breath and he’s falling off the edge and never coming back, his world is frail and so is he.It takes just a moment too long for someone to grab his hand and pull him to shore.-Or, Techno has been on a downward spiral into depression. His family has yet to put the pieces together, leaving him to drown in himself.It takes the breaking of the unbreakable to make them see.
Relationships: Family dynamic. It’s family., if you ship them it’s gross., leave. - Relationship
Comments: 17
Kudos: 380





	I won’t lose you tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic entirely based on a suicide attempt. There is self harm, hospitals, all that junk.  
> This is something I myself went through. I’ve been hospitalized for suicide attempts twice in my life, this is somewhat based off of me.  
> If you are struggling, please seek help. It does get better, and I know it’s the same old mantra you always hear but it’s true. It’s not all at once, little things get easier to do, and you’ll be able to live. It’s never too late to get help, you're worth more than you’ll ever know.
> 
> If ANY of the creators mentioned in this fic are uncomfortable with the topics, add a comment under this and I will delete it.

He was fifteen. Barely a junior. He was fifteen when it all came to a head, when the boiling water frothed and spilt over the edge of the pot. 

He was fourteen when he noticed his grades slipping. When getting out of bed took an hour. When eating became a chore, and it was just so much easier to sleep. 

He was thirteen when it felt odd to smile. When he almost cried every time his dad would ruffle his hair lovingly. When he started to distance himself and pick up a razor rather than speak. 

He didn’t know when it started. Maybe he’d always been like that. But he was tired. He could only handle so much. He could only take so much onto his plate before it got too heavy. And heavy it was. 

It was just a regular day. Wake up at five in the morning, lay in bed for an hour trying to will himself to get up, put on a shirt and jeans, cover his arms with the same hoodie he always wore. 

It was just a regular day. Skip breakfast because eating was too time consuming. Catch the bus and play his music. 

It was just a regular day. Turn in work, ignore the students, eat the granola bar he packed for lunch. 

It was just a regular day until it wasn’t. 

Someone shoved him in the hall, someone spilt their water on his paper, his teacher lost one of his assignments, he lost his favorite black pen. 

The build up of everything over the years is what it took. He’d written suicide notes before, mostly scrapping them because he felt they were stupid or pointless. But this time felt different. 

He wrote one to Phil first, apologizing for always being distant and awkward. Promising that it wasn’t his fault, signing it with love. 

Wilbur’s was next. He apologized to him too, saying it wasn’t his fault and priding him on his music. Again, signed with love. 

Tommy was last, and there was a moment of hesitation before he wrote and wrote and wrote. Apologies for not being a good brother, for leaving him at one of the worst times in a teens life, for always seeming like he didn’t care. He wrote about how he was proud of Tommy, about how he hoped that Tubbo and him would remain friends, how his laugh was sometimes the only thing that made it okay to take a breath. 

He signed it with guilt. 

The letters were sat on the kitchen counter. No one else was home yet. They wouldn’t be for at least another fifteen minutes. 

He was in the bathroom before he could blink. Stripped down to his shirt and boxers, glasses folded neatly on the edge of the sink. The water was warm, and the tub filled halfway. 

It felt strange, to submerge himself in water when he still had clothes on. But he supposed it didn’t matter. His end was just around the corner, the blade in his hand only reinforcing that. 

One turned to two, and two to four. Suddenly both arms were red up to the bend of his elbow, but he wasn’t done. His thighs had more space, but the water was already pink, and his hands were shaking too much to do any real damage. The realization that he couldn’t do more hit and he just sighed. 

He’d closed his eyes and leaned back, letting the warm water bring it’s final comfort. A smile tugged itself on his lips, and it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel out of place. 

He felt happy. 

Everything that happened next was a blur. There was knocking at the door, but he didn’t even hum for an answer, brain too fuzzy to register. The knocking got louder, then there was shouting, someone was crying. The door was kicked in but still, he didn’t move. 

He could barely open his eyes, and even then everything had a haze from the combination of not having his glasses on and the blood loss. Someone was by the tub, talking, no, shouting? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He just kept smiling. There were so many hands, all grabbing and trying to pull him out of the water, pressing cloth over his arms to try and stop the bleeding, tapping his cheek, cradling his head. The hands felt warm, warmer than the bath, maybe it was more comfortable to go in the arms of family than alone. He could remember the smile never leaving his face before everything went black. 

The next thing he could remember was being able to swallow his spit. He had function over his body, and that was new. Expecting nothing after death and being greeted by bodily control was startling. 

He tested his eyes, cracking them open just a touch before screwing them shut. He made a noise of discomfort, moving his head to the side not even an inch. 

That’s when the voices came back. Panicked and familiar, full of worry and repressed agony. “Turn the lights off it’s too bright,” “He’s awake, get the doctor, he’s awake!” “Techno, Techno please open your eyes, Techno please,” overwhelming would be an understatement. He just cracked his eyes open again, looking around at the blurry shapes of what could only be his family. 

Once he could focus more and had his glasses shoved rather unceremoniously onto his face, he saw what he didn’t want to see. His family. His dad and his brothers. Red and puffy eyes, fresh tears trailing down past dark circles. Unkempt hair and wobbly lips. Wil hadn’t shaved and nobody had brushed their hair. 

Looking at them hurt more than he thought. This wasn’t the plan, survival wasn’t one of the options, there was supposed to be a void and he was supposed to be dead. 

Phil held his hand, rubbing circles onto the back. “Tech,” his dad couldn’t even form a sentence. The older man just pressed a kiss to his forehead and held tight to his hand. Wilbur was smiling through tears, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve. He let out a hiccup before whispering “Thank fuck.” quietly to no one in particular. Tommy was stood frozen, eyes wet, hands clutching the front of his shirt. 

“Why?” There was a near inaudible whisper from the youngest. Both Phil and Wilbur looked over, but Tommy stared Techno down. “Why?” He asked again, voice not growing louder. He pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from the pocket of his hoodie. The pit in Techno’s stomach made itself known. “Why?” It was the final time he asked and by far the weakest. Tears spilling down his cheeks and hands trembling. Tommy was only thirteen. He wasn’t even in high school, and yet he stood in a hospital room with his brother as the patient brought in for a suicide attempt. 

Techno couldn’t being himself to say anything. The doctor couldn’t even get a word out of him, much less his family. The room was silent, there was no tv on the wall, no radio played in the corner, and the door was blocking out any noise the outside world would bring. 

“Tech, you don’t have to say anything, but can you tell us why?” Phil’s voice was soft. Too gentle for his own good, too gentle for the being the man who raised the three boys in the room. Techno swallowed a lump. He tried to speak, to say something, but all he could do was open and close his mouth, nothing coming fourth. Wilbur was sat in the corner, eyes glued to the ground. Tommy was staring out the window, desperate to see anything but the bandages and hospital gown. The room went quiet once again. 

It took a few minutes for Techno to find his voice. “I’m sorry.” It was raspy and low, but it sent three pairs of eyes his way. He didn’t look back, eyes focusing on the wall directly in front of him. Tommy passed his line of sight, lips pulled into a straight line, jaw set, and slammed the door behind him. Phil was quick after him, squeezing Techno’s hand before he took off. Wilbur just watched chewing at his nails. 

“He’s scared, you know.” The brunette said. “He thought he lost you. We all did. He was the one who found the notes, and he’s the one who called for an ambulance.” Wilbur wasn’t trying to upset him, that much was known, but it didn’t take away the sting. “He didn’t sleep for two days. Dad had to borderline drug him.” Two days? But he’d just woken up, “How long has it been?” Techno asked, his voice was still raspy and low as ever. “Five days, Tech. You’ve been out for five days.” The guilt only worsened. “Tubbo was here earlier, him and Tommy were in the little garden they have here. Everything considered, this place is quite pretty. It only makes it worse though, because the walk back from wherever just feels odd.” Techno was looking in his brothers direction. He looked tired. 

“I don’t need to know why if you’re not ready to tell me, but did you plan on us finding you in time?” Wilbur’s question left a ring in the air. Techno looked away and shifted his weight. That was an answer on its own. The older felt his heart break just a little more. “Do you know what would’ve happened if we didn’t find you?” His voice wavered again, but it wasn’t from the build up of tears this time. “Do you know how horrible we would feel? Having to plan your funeral, watch you get buried in the ground, live on without you?” He was standing from his seat now, and Techno still didn’t look his way. “Do you know how bad you hurt us? How bad you hurt Tommy?” The anger was evident, and Techno couldn’t blame him. 

“Do you know, that I spent hours. Hours looking over your entire room, trying to find anything else you’ve been hurting yourself with. And what did I find? Razor blades, the fucking parring knife that went missing from the kitchen, rolls and rolls of ace bandages that were covered in blood. I found so much shit that you hid from us, I found the notes that I guess weren’t good enough tucked away. And do you know that the oldest one is from two years ago?” Wilbur was borderline spitting venom. “Do you know that Tommy spent the past five days crying and reading that letter? Reading every text conversation you two ever had, trying to find out what happened, where he went wrong. Where he went wrong! Because he blames himself Techno! Dad hasn’t been able to eat anymore than a sandwich this entire time. He hasn’t changed his shirt and he hasn’t even worn his hat. He thinks that if he were around more that he could’ve stopped it.” There was a finger jabbed directly into Techno’s chest. “Do you know, that everyone has been asking me about you. Do you know that I have spent every waking moment thinking it over. If we had been just a minute late coming home. If we didn’t read the notes. If we held off on breaking the door. If we had decided to pick up food on the way home. Do you know how fucking scared I was? How I still am?” There was the break. The walls had come down, Wilbur was openly sobbing. His finger turned to his fist grabbing white knuckle at the hospital gown. “Do you know how scared we are?” It was too soft. Too quiet. And it broke more than just Wilbur admitting it. 

Techno felt his eyes welling up, his shoulders shook, his lips quivered, and he cried. He cried when he turned to pull Wilbur in for a hug. He cried when both of their hands clawed for grip in the others tops. He cried and cried and cried. Even when Wilbur rested his scraggly chin on the top of his head. Even when Phil and Tommy came back in the room. Even when he felt better, he didn’t stop crying until he had nothing left to cry. Wilbur’s arms slowly retreated, and Techno sat back in bed. 

“I’m sorry.” It was cracked and filled with too much emotion to be considered Techno’s voice. “I’m sorry,” He met each pair of eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

The truth was, he didn’t know why he kept it in. He didn’t understand how his family was so happy, and he thought he was broken. Techno was always unbreakable, but sometimes it takes a broken boy to make a change. 

He was sent to a psyche unit, other kids like him. His roommate was jittery and anxious, but Techno sat by him at lunch and dinner, making small talk and letting him come out of his shell. There were others, a girl who ran away and was missing for three days, only to be found and taken in handcuffs. A guy who admitted himself because his parents wouldn’t. And a boy younger than Techno himself. He was thirteen. Tommy’s age. 

The week he spent there was akin to a fresh start. Medicine, therapy, proper food, coping skills. The blankets were scratchy and the pillows crinkled a bit too loud, sure, but it was overall rather worth it. Even if he’d had a breakdown or two, he learned from it. 

The visiting hours were always his favorite though. Phil would always bring some sort of fast food, the four eating together as if nothing had changed. Tommy proudly boasting about his latest test score, Wilbur sliding over his lyric book, Phil ruffling his hair with the look only a loving father could have. It made getting to sleep easier, ignoring the various checkins from the night shift nurses, the room checks, the rattling air conditioning. It gave him a reason to want to get out of bed, get in the shower, go to group therapy, talk about how he was feeling. 

The day he was discharged, safety plan and all, was one he would never forget. Waving to all the other kids there, his favorite nurses, and making his way down the hall with his family. Things were weird for a good bit. He wasn’t allowed to have his door closed, bathroom time was monitored, (which really sucked the first time he took a shower, he just wanted to relax in the steam) and he wasn’t allowed near anything that could possibly hurt him. It was annoying, but understandable. Arm and leg checks stopped after about a month, therapy was going well, the medication was working wonders, and for the first time in forever, Techno felt happy. 

He still looked at the scars, being that he couldn’t exactly avoid it sometimes, and even if he hated them, they were a part of the past. Something he was beyond, and he was okay with that. 

After years of never getting better, the moment he knew he was healing was when it started raining outside and he went out regardless. No shoes, socks or glasses, just sweat pants and a t shirt. He jumped in the puddles that formed in the driveway, stood with his arms open to the sky and laughed. He laughed and it was real. Loud and clear, full of genuine joy, and he’d never felt better. 

The rest of his family watched before joining him. Tommy splashing his feet with the puddles, Wilbur shaking his hair to send water flying every which way, and Phil laughing while doing a mock tango with his middle child. 

There were still bad days, but good was always there. It didn’t get better all at once, it was gradual and he didn’t even notice it at first. It felt like the days after a cold when the only thought is that of ‘I can breathe so clearly’. Phil would trust him to chop garlic alone in the kitchen after some time. Tommy would start poking fun eventually. Wilbur would stop knocking on the bathroom door while he was in the shower. 

That night was by far the worst he’d ever experienced, and he was sure the same could be said for his family, but Techno was alive. He was alive and happy, and that was all that mattered. He graduated with the rest of his class, majoring in English after high school, having his first drink be shots with Wilbur, even if it was a bad idea. 

Even the unbreakable have a limit, but there’s always someone to put the pieces back and place with careful hands. 

Techno learned that the hard way, but he learned it nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> The rant Wilbur goes on is something I wished happened to me. I was never told how I made others feel until after, and even then it was via guilt tripping.   
> If I had someone knock some sense into me while I was in the ER, I probably wouldn’t have had to get sent back again.
> 
> I’ve lost a lot of my life to mental illness.  
>  My brother doesn’t show up to my band competitions or concerts, he doesn’t go to any of my parades or even show up to major things. I lost my brothers trust and love because I tried to kill myself, and I know that’s not how it’s supposed to work   
> My parents get in fights over my hospital bills, and I’ve been involved in a few of the fights too. There was a week where I didn’t come home because my dad got too drunk and screamed in my face about how I was too expensive and that I didn’t care about them.  
> I lost my boyfriend, and honestly it was probably for the best, but getting dumped straight out of the hospital sucks.  
> I’ve lost friends, people who I thought would be there until the end of time. 
> 
> But I’m happy.  
> That’s the difference now. I’m HAPPY and I can say so without a doubt. There’s a reason for me to wake up, to go to sleep, to shower and take care of myself. I have motivation, I can finally breathe, and it feels so good.
> 
> I was hospitalized in April, it’s now November, and the difference is extreme. I dance to the music in stores, I splash outside when it rains, I stopped stress baking, and I’m an adult now. I’m 18, and I can proudly say that I’m on the road to recovery. 
> 
> If you’re in a bad place mentally, get help. It’s terrifying, I know, but you’ll feel so much better. Take a breath and let yourself live, open the windows and change your sheets. Take a shower, put on clean clothes. Baby steps my friends, baby steps is all it takes to get the ball rolling.


End file.
